


Moth to a Flame

by namedanonymous



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namedanonymous/pseuds/namedanonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is drawn to her like a moth to a flame, willing to be burned by its beautiful light. (Five times kissed).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth to a Flame

**_I._ **

          Angelica has a fire within her that rivals that of any man  ** _(_**  that rivals his and has a smile painted across a hunger-pained face —–he had not expected so much from the schuyler sisters  ** _)_**. but her sister Elizabeth  ** _(_**  dearest eliza ** _! )_**  has a different warmth about her that sings of home and love and kindness when all Alexander knows now is the cold and friendships made harsh as to survive the trials of war and this long, frigid winter  ** _(_**  the caribean sun has long been forgotten  ** _)_**. Her glow is not so fierce as angelica’s raging bonfire, but of a candle gently burning in the dark that lures moths into its concentric circles of beauty —–he is the moth, beautiful wings skirting her flame, and he would gladly be burned by her.

          Her skirts rustle as she curtsies  ** _(_**  thank you, for all your service  ** _)_** , and he is mesmerized. flirtatious lips meet porcelain skin, though her hand in his war-calloused fingers is warm and alive unlike the dolls that adorn little girl’s shelves. even over the gentle, swelling music he can hear the intake of her breath, her digits gone soft and compliant in his when blue eyes rise to meet irises of rich black, like velvet curtains and the city at night. and below them there is a smile that could melt this harsh winter in a single heartbeat, and Alexander knows she would never burn him.

**_II._ **

          The third day of their meeting, Alexander walks her home through quiet streets, falling snowflakes caught in the glow of golden streetlamps. there’s snow seeping in slow and icy through the wear of his boots, but he hardly takes note of anything but their gentle conversation and the warmth at his arm. Wit-filled words drop from curved lips, and Eliza laughs, a clear, genuine sound that has a radiance blooming in his chest —–small discomforts are a given in this harsh winter and too easily eclipsed by beauty.

         Too soon do they reach her stoop, small, gloved hands released from his upper arm as man and woman turn to face each other in a step of an unspoken dance  ** _(_**  from the street one can see naught but their silhouettes, the gentleman moving to take his lady’s hand  ** _)_**. Alexander’s own fingers are numb when he takes delicate digits in hand to bid goodnight for the evening, and there is the usual graze of lips against silk like the lightest brush of snow. Only eyes raise at the tail of the movement, ocean orbs meeting velvet hues dark like the warmth of coffee, and Alexander is leaning forward again, his final farewell pressed gently upon a rosy cheek instead.

**_III._ **

          Her words are written across his heart, as are her kind eyes and gentle gaze  ** _(_**  a hidden wit evident in off-hand comments and a whispery voice  ** _)_**  —–dreams are even more sweet with Eliza in them, loyal and heartful. he is the one with the words in the palm of his hand  ** _(_** endless combinations that twist about in his subconscious and pour out in fountains of perfect ink and syllables  ** _)_** , yet he cares not for the rough nature of her writing. Alexander knows and  _cares_ only of the honesty woven into every piece of parchment that bares her name  ** _(_**  Elizabeth Schuyler ** _! )_**.

          So much do they correspond that when he sees her at the end of the aisle, white and beautiful and happy with flowers clasp in her hands, he feels he already knows what he’ll find in her heart. Then hands are in his  ** _(_**  ring a-glittering as he recites his vows to her —–written and re-written far too many times  ** _)_** , and they meet in the middle. He is not so much taller than his dear wife, yet she is leaning upwards and he down to their perfect union. He smiles and it is not so different then he imagined, a first kiss that tastes like the words of her letters and holds the warmth of her laughter.

**_IV._ **

          Candle light flickers over their dinner, casting dancing shadows over handsome faces ** _;_** but even a lack of light cannot erase fervent affection in the pools of blue and black hues alike. an outstretched hand across the table, through quivering light that seems to speak of what is to come, and Eliza’s petite one is placed compliant in his own slim fingers  ** _(_**  a smile for a smile and love for love —–he is as much hers as she is his  ** _)_**.

          Alexander is no stranger to the dance that happens behind drawn curtains  ** _(_**  of delicate skin and lust and breath heavy with expectation  ** _)_** , but the trust invisible in the darkness yet evident in the gentle touch of her palm against his makes him want to learn the steps anew once more. _Trust. H_ ands move from her grip to her shoulders, her waist, her back, drawing her close to his bosom  ** _(_**  close to his heart —–both of their beating as one:  _thump, thump, thump **)**_  and into a kiss that reminds him why he thinks her a candle at all.

          She is not so shy as he would have thought when fingers find the ties of her dress, hands  ** _(_**  it is hard to say whose  ** _)_**  moving in an instinctive dance of tangled limbs that find their way to bed where a thousand feeling pass at once —–warmth and gentle caresses, smooth sheets twisted against bare skin. and yet, as it always does, one crowds out the rest in a press of lips against lips ** _:_**  a kiss full of devotion in a testament of love Alexander had never once doubted.

**_V._ **

          Opinions collide and not often do they escalate into the heat of an argument  ** _(_**  Angelica was always the more incendiary of the two ** _)_** , but when they do explode into tense air it’s with the terrible wrath of a good woman gone to war  ** _(_**  DEMONS RUN ** _! )_**. the end of Eliza’s kindness is a cliff run off into a storming sea, and Alexander is a ship in her ocean floundering to stay afloat  ** _(_**  —–and not to be improper, but he thinks he does a fairly good job faring jarring waves  ** _)_**.

          But all oceans must rise to rough fifty-foot seas ** _(_**  it is only healthy that they do, lest the storm brew deep within and seep out in poison in other ways  ** _)_** , and soon ephemeral tsunamis must fall back into placid glass leaving a ship banged and splintering but alive and better aware of the sea’s rage  ** _(_**  do not be lulled by a pretty face and do not ever take it for granted, learn to respect it like your own  ** _)_**. And when shouts fade to heavy breaths and daring gazes, when Alexander’s ‘fight’ instinct fades from his vision and Eliza has made herself known, it is the ship and the sea that embrace ** _;_**  his hands gentle on her shoulders, apology in his eyes and lingering on his lips; the words never quite said, but evident all the same in action —–a chaste, quiet kiss to her temple and a gathering of silks in welcoming arms that says both  _‘ i’m sorry ‘_  and  _‘ i love you .’_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Drop a line if you did c:


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